I know what you are thinking, that I am going to write a blog about the finale of Lost . . . but you're wrong. The title is totally deceiving (however I did watch all 6 seasons and watched the finale and kinda loved it). What is actually "lost" is far more disturbing.
I live in a big house (for 6 more days anyway), there is a basement apartment where two guys live and an upstairs house where we live and an up up stairs room in the attic where I live. I was informed today that our downstairs housemates LOST a boa constrictor. That's right, they "lost" it. Now I do believe you can lose things, like your keys or your wallet, but losing a snake in a house is a lot like losing a kid at the zoo- it instills fear as well as urgency to find said kid (or more importantly, SNAKE). But no. When the guys were asked about whether they were concerned about the whereabouts of Mr. Boa constrictor, their response was "it happens." Oh does it? Does it really? I share a basement laundry room with these bozos- many times since the snake has been "lost" I have gone downstairs in the dark, damp basement, in my bare feet and without my knowledge I could have been coiled to death (not sure if that is the proper phrasing but you get me) as I innocently washed my unmentionables!
Maybe I am being a little dramatic, but I can't stop thinking about it. The slimy thing creeping it's way up my stairs, into my room and under my covers. UGH. I almost can't stand it. Where is Samuel L. when you need him? Or Paula Abdul? Hopefully snakey and I won't cross paths in the next 6 days. But if we do I can't be held responsible for the action I take- chopping off it's head, spraying it with hairspray and setting it on fire (who has hairspray anymore?) or kindly donating it to the zoo (pretty sure I would do one of the other two first- in a fit of panic of course).
PETA, don't get mad at me "it happens."